


Rent

by storiesfortravellers



Category: This Means War (2012)
Genre: Brief Mention of Tuck/Lauren and FDR/Lauren, Comfort, Community: kink_bingo, Held Down, Longing, M/M, Mild Angst, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Sex For a Mission, Sex While Being Watched, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When FDR goes undercover as a sex worker in Monte Carlo, a glitch in the plan means that Tuck will have to play the role of his client very, very convincingly. FDR tries not to let on that he's wanted to do this with Tuck for years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rent

**Author's Note:**

> For Kink Bingo for the prostitution square.
> 
> Also for smallfandomfest on livejournal, for the prompt "FDR/Tuck, need."

The moment the last camera went out – the moment FDR realized that Tuck and Lauren were going to sleep together – FDR knew it was over. 

FDR thought he was pretty good in bed. And he and Lauren had amazing chemistry. In the bedroom, and out. 

But there was no way that Lauren would choose him after she’d slept with Tuck. Tuck was too good.

FDR knew from experience.

~~~

It was only once, years ago, and it was for the job.

Of course it was for the job. Tuck didn’t think of him that way, and if there’s one thing FDR knew how to hide, it was what he wanted.

FDR was playing the role of a high-priced prostitute in Monte Carlo, and Tuck was playing a compulsive gambler from a wealthy family who was willing to take on shady deals to prevent his disinheritance. FDR was actually feeling rather smug that the op leader decided FDR would make a more convincing call boy; he took it as a compliment.

FDR was at the bar, chatting up a financier who also happened to manage money for an arms dealer who had inside information they needed, when Tuck came up behind him and whispered, loud enough for the financier to hear, “Whatever’s he offering I’ll pay double.” Tuck’s breath was hot against his ear.

As much as FDR wished he could indulge that thought, he knew Tuck wouldn’t interrupt without a reason. He shrugged and smiled at the financier and headed toward the elevators with Tuck.

When they were inside the elevator, Tuck whispered in his ear: someone had cast suspicion on FDR’s op ID and now he was being watched closely by the arms dealer’s security team. The man who vouched for FDR was in deep cover, and any mistake they made could get the other agent killed; if the pulled the deep cover agent out, however, that would stop a key information pipeline. Their orders were to ditch the original mission and maintain their cover at all costs. Tomorrow morning, they were to make it appear that Tuck’s gambler had hired FDR for the night and become so smitten that he convinced FDR to go away on vacation with him to Capri. FDR could disappear without arousing any suspicions.

They got to FDR’s room at the casino hotel, but when they closed the door, Tuck lunged at FDR, lifting his hips up onto the table and kissing his neck roughly. 

“There’s a camera. North corner of the room,” he whispered into FDR’s ear.

Of course. Of course Tuck was maintaining cover. 

Tuck continued to manhandle FDR around the room, pulling him up and across almost every surface in the room, kissing and groping him to cover for the fact that Tuck was checking the room for bugs.

When Tuck finally brought them over to the bed, let them fall onto the mattress with Tuck’s body hovering over his, Tuck starting nibbling at his jawline, telling him that there were no bugs, no auditory sources at all, but that they would probably have to provide a visual for the camera.

FDR tensed and Tuck paused, whispered, “Are you okay with that?”

FDR nodded. He was okay with it. Mostly, he didn’t want Tuck to figure out how okay he was with it.

“Hey,” Tuck said. 

FDR had been avoiding looking Tuck in the eye since the moment they started kissing and groping, but finally he looked up to see Tuck looking down at him, sweetness and concern and that look on his face that FDR _knew_ meant that if FDR really weren’t on board, Tuck was ready to screw orders, pull out the deep cover source, and go medieval on the arms dealer and his friends. 

Their faces were close, closer than FDR could remember being to Tuck’s eyes, Tuck’s lips. He nodded again. “I’m good.”

Tuck looked at him, discerning. He said, “You know what? If we have to do this….” 

FDR carefully didn’t wince at the ‘have to.’ 

Tuck finished, “Then we should do it great, right?” 

FDR stared up at him. 

Tuck continued, “Let’s making it fucking amazing. Good for the cover, good for us.” He smirked at FDR. “Let’s see who’s better in bed, FDR.”

FDR almost laughed. Of course. They were in the most awkward situation possible and here Tuck was, making him seem like everything was okay. Like this is just another crazy thing they do together, or do for each other. 

“Let’s see what you got,” FDR said, and immediately Tuck straddled him and grinned.

“You know I bet I can guess what you like,” Tuck said.

“How exactly?”

“I see the way you act around women you like. I’ve known you for years, mate, you think I don’t notice anything?”

 _You don’t notice what I’m thinking about you,_ FDR thought.

But then Tuck grabbed his wrists and held his arms down. “Like that?” he said smugly.

“It’s okay.” The crack in FDR’s voice revealed that it was more than okay.

“Tell me what else.” Tuck’s eyes were darkening.

FDR swallowed. “Well, you hired me for the night, right? You take what you want,” he said, dare in his voice.

Tuck leaned over to kiss him again, rough and possessive. Then he flipped FDR over and ran his hand up and down FDR’s back as he held one of FDR’s arms behind his back. Tuck kissed his shoulder then, and licked a line up and down his spine, and FDR arched into it. 

Tuck’s hand then, reaching around to grope at FDR’s dick. But then Tuck froze when he felt FDR’s erection. FDR realized: Tuck was expecting it to be hard work getting him going. He wasn’t expecting that FDR would already be turned on.

FDR was glad he was facing down and Tuck couldn’t see the humiliation on his face. 

But Tuck somehow read him anyway. He leaned over and whispered in FDR’s ear. “Look, mate. Let’s just have a good time, right? Nothing we do here is going to change anything. We’ll be the same, you and me. Work together, hang out together, go to awful family functions together. It’ll be the same. You with me?” 

FDR closed his eyes. It was always like this when Tuck worried about him, when Tuck made him feel like not a damn thing in the world was more important than taking care of him. 

“Yeah. Let’s do this,” FDR said. 

Tuck went back to kissing his back, then turned him around again to kiss him on the lips, his fingers running through FDR’s hair, coasting lightly over his jaw and neck. FDR ran his hands along Tuck’s chest, his shoulders. For a few minutes, FDR gave as good as he got, muttered challenges and sarcastic comments, but then Tuck started sucking FDR’s cock and he just about fell apart, Tuck’s lips and tongue and fingers working him into a babbling mess. Then Tuck took out a condom, took out lube. He kept checking, kept giving FDR silent looks asking if he wanted to back out, but FDR kept making it clear; he didn’t want to stop.

They lay on the bed, side by side, spooning as Tuck slowly prepared him, gently kissing him, caressing him really. Tuck was large, FDR felt the stretch when he entered, but Tuck had spent so long preparing him that he was ready, eager. 

Tuck was slow, careful, just dominant enough in directing him for FDR to enjoy it. As FDR got closer and closer, he felt himself losing it, felt some architecture of himself crumble. He put the camera out of his mind, tried to forget the reason Tuck was doing this. For the first time in his life, he felt like another person was about to see all of him, about to watch him fall apart completely, and he didn’t even mind.

When they were both done, they lay there, Tuck inside him, smaller, for a long time. Tuck’s arm rested warm and heavy around his waist.

“How are you?” Tuck asked him, soft and anxious.

“I’m good,” FDR said.

It was true. For this moment, until Tuck left this bed and their lives went back to normal, he was good.


End file.
